


Pink in the Night

by Anonymous



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Bad Ending, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, Johnny Silverhand Being An Asshole, Johnny Silverhand Has a Body, Post-Canon, Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, V Needs A Hug (Cyberpunk 2077), and maybe something else, its not all sunshine and rainbows, johnny’s really hard to love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 13:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I think that’s what I wanted.” she told him one night. She tried to keep it down, that feeling in her chest. If he noticed–“Don’t think, V.” he snapped. V listened.She shut herself up, stripped, and climbed into bed with him. He pinned her down, pushed himself into her, made her call out his name with the feverish passion he wanted from her. V let him do all these things and more.When the sun rose the next day, when she woke up by herself under their sheets, V remembered. The words slammed into her like a wave crashing onto the shore.This isn’t what she wanted.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand & V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Anonymous





	Pink in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> “And you won’t tell them,  
> and you realize the person who loves  
> you isn’t the one you thought it would  
> be,  
> and you don’t trust him to love you in  
> a way  
> you would enjoy.”

He’s nothing special. Rockerboys are a dime a dozen in 2077. Doesn’t he know that? 

Everyone imitates. Copies what he’s made of. When everyone’s different, no one is. Not anymore.

He’s just like everyone else.

V stares at him, at the earth-tone eyes with no optics. A man out of time. A man like any other. 

V wanted to say it to his face, tell him he was nothing special, but by God, she could stare at those eyes for _eons_. She could look deep inside of him, crawl into him, and make a home. 

If he would let her, she could do all those things and more. 

Sometimes V gets a nagging feeling that prods her brain. She feels it and it reminds her.

_“He won’t ever let you in. He saw what lived inside of you, inside that so-called brain. It wasn’t very pleasant. He didn’t like it and he doesn’t like you either.”_

Sometimes V feels a sharp something near her heart for just a moment. Then it vanishes, oh so quickly. 

Burns like a wild fire and in mere seconds reality smothers it.

Johnny lived inside her brain. V’s had to live with it for _years_ , and even _she_ doesn’t like it. Why would he? 

_He wouldn’t._

V doesn’t get her hopes up. She’s not one to hope, not anymore. This city took that away from her, chucked it far away where she could never reach it again. 

Johnny comes back to her–Not just her. He’s not here for her. He’s here to live, for that second chance he needed to make amends.

His long list of people to talk to does not include V. They had time. In Mikoshi. 

Their time together is up. V knows this, she knows it like she knew Jackie was a man who would die young, knows it like the back of her hand. 

She had a month and then some to spend with Johnny. That’s more than enough.

Since it’s the realistic thing to do, because _everything_ V does is real now that she’s not chained by her impending doom, V leaves.

She’s got a call for something. She’s not sure what it is. V’s never been great at figuring things out quickly. Dexter Deshawn is a prime example. 

V’s grown since then, since she took a bullet to the head.

Since she rose from the dead like some sort of ghost or monster, since she got her own monster.

V’s discovered that the word, _‘monster,’_ is relative. She’s met a lot of them. People like Jotaro Shobo, the father-son duo, or Yorinobu Arasaka. She’s lived with a monster inside of her for so many years.

V wonders if it was always alive, or if that bullet brought her and her monster back to life in one fell swoop. Only a monster would look at Johnny Silverhand and think, 

_“I would die for him.”_

Because he’s a terrorist and she might be a merc, but killing thousands of people has never been on her to-do list. She got rid of any sort of commitment like that once she started living life with a time limit. 

That’s his fault, isn’t it? 

It is. V knows that. 

_(How many times will she repeat that question to herself and receive the same response from herself?)_

V leaves because it’s the right, the realistic thing to do. 

Johnny has friends again. Actual ones. They’re also hers. 

_(She lingers by the bed. Johnny rises from the couch and opens the door. So easily, with no fear. He wraps his arms around Kerry with a smile, invites him into their apartment. V doesn’t say much. What’s there to say? Kerry’s here for Johnny, not her.)_

Kerry gave V his gun, Rogue gave V a once-over and a nod, and Panam gave her a jacket. Johnny gets along with them.

Is that her peeking through him? Are they getting along with the piece of her that stuck to him? 

_Is it him? Is it him?_

She wants to ask him, but she trembles whenever she gets too close. A mountain of hesitance and fear stands in her way, and V doesn’t have the courage or the bravery to climb it. 

The words want to fly out her mouth. 

_“Is it you? Is it you?”_ she wants to ask. V’s never wanted so many things before. She used to be so content with the corporate lifestyle. The champagne, the power she held, and the money. 

The world got bigger though, scarier. V had to get bigger, scarier with it. It was the realistic way to survive.

Johnny’s too–There’s something about him that V can’t shake. She tries, constantly. To push him away and into the arms of his old friends, friends who are happy to see him.

He always comes back, though. The door to her apartment slides open at night and there he is, every single time. Johnny greets her with a smirk, and V melts. He tugs her into his body and she goes willingly. 

_(“I thought you were going to be with Rogue tonight.” she whispers. He grasps her chin so tightly. He might break her. She leans into him. She wants to feel the ache. “Came back. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he tells her. V wants a lot of things. She doesn’t know what this is. She says yes anyway.)_

How fucking poetic is that. 

His body on top of hers, and suddenly she is that child again. The one who wants everything, the one who begs for him to give her something, anything.

Something _real_. 

_(His teeth dig into her bottom lip. Blood rises and flows into her mouth, swirls around. It tastes like his. ‘This doesn’t feel right,’ she wants to scream. She wants to scream, ‘You don’t feel right.’ but his lips muffle anything she wants to say.)_

The sun rises, and so does he. There’s no more moonlight to shroud them in its aura. The sun breaks the moment beyond repair. They try to fix it every night with hushed words and loud moans. They try to fix it with something temporary.

V’s never wanted something temporary. 

He rises from their bed–that’s what he calls it now–and walks away from her limp body. He leaves her with a sharp something near her heart. It feels like a heart attack, like she’s dying all over again. 

She leaves. She needs something real. 

_(“Do you love me?” she asked when they were on the edge of sleep, their bodies intertwined under their bedsheets. He laughed and told her to go to sleep. They would talk about it later, he said. V’s still thinking about that and how ‘later’ never came.)_

Hasn’t this all been a nightmare, anyway? V needs to wake up. 

It’s amazing how many clothes one can fit into a single duffel bag. 

It’s even more amazing how quietly one can sneak away from another’s life.

It’s as easy as waking up before the sunrise, with a bus ticket in the pocket of his jacket. Just gotta shrug it on, put on some other decent clothes. Clothes that are nearly as invaluable as the city made her feel. 

As _he_ made her feel. 

It’s as easy as planting a kiss on his forehead. Getting that last touch, burning up one last time. 

The bus won’t wait forever. 

The sun rises, and she leaves. She leaves his limp body in his bed. 

Realistically, he won’t mind her leaving. He’s Johnny Silverhand. She’s a dime a dozen. V just had to realize. 


End file.
